


Broken Hearts Still Love

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family Angst, Family Fluff, Family Relationships - Freeform, Family Secrets, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is a birthday present for the lovely Rumaan who is extremely fond of Stark family feels. </p><p>The joy of a happy announcement is clouded somewhat by old hurts and angers when one child's innocent question opens old wounds and leads to some uncomfortable conversations. Not all wounds can be healed, but in Winterfell, one man, one woman, and two little boys choose to reach for the love they've found and hold onto it with both hands. Secrets, lies, hurts, and resentments may remain. But the bonds between husband and wife, parent and child, and two brothers will grow ever stronger because these broken hearts still choose to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Hearts Still Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rumaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/gifts).



CATELYN

“Why does Jon call you Lady Stark?”

Catelyn froze at her son’s words, feeling something cold grip her heart. She stopped in the doorway of Robb’s room, not stepping out into the corridor as she had intended after kissing him goodnight, but not turning around either. She couldn’t quite move.

“Mother?”

Robb’s voice sounded puzzled. He was unused to being ignored by her. He came to her with a thousand questions a day, it seemed, growing ever more curious about everything imaginable as he grew bigger and older. This was hardly the first time he’d called after her with a question when he was supposed to be shutting his eyes to sleep. She nearly always indulged him with a smile and an answer.

She had no smile now, though. Slowly, she turned to face her child. “It is my proper title,” she said simply.

“But Sansa and I don’t call you Lady Stark.”

“You and Sansa are my children,” she said far more harshly than she’d intended, and she watched her precious boy’s eyes widen with both shock and apprehension—those blue eyes that heralded his Tully lineage and gave no hint of the solemn Northman who’d fathered him and whose title he would one day hold. “You and Sansa are trueborn Starks of Winterfell, Robb,” she said more softly. “Just as your new brother or sister will be.”

Robb’s eyes dropped from her face to stare at her midsection where little hint of her pregnancy showed through her thick skirt. He couldn’t truly understand, of course. He’d been too young to remember when she carried Sansa. She had not wanted to tell him of this new babe yet, but Ned had been ecstatic to learn she was with child again and had shared the news with Robb just before the evening meal and then proclaimed it to everyone in the Great Hall. While her husband’s obvious joy in her news had warmed Catelyn’s heart, she feared that six moons was entirely too long for Robb to anticipate the arrival of a new sibling. He’d been excited by his father’s enthusiasm this evening, but he’d likely lose interest long before the newest Stark actually arrived.

“Jon is my brother, too,” he said now. “And he calls you Lady Stark. Will the new brother or sister have to call you that, too?”

 _Jon is my brother, too._ Catelyn bit her lip until she thought it might bleed to keep from saying something terrible to her son. 

“The babe will not speak at all for some time,” came a deep and rather stern voice from behind Catelyn, and she turned to see her husband in the corridor just outside Robb’s room. He wore what she called his lord’s face, but she knew him well enough now to see precisely how upset he was beneath his controlled features. “And when he does, he will likely call your lady mother ‘Mama’ at first.”

“Like Sansa does sometimes?” Robb asked. 

“Like you used to do as well,” Ned said softly. “When you were but two years old. This new little Stark will love your mother as the two of you do.”

“But why does Jon . . .”

“Hush, Robb!” Ned said rather severely, and Robb jumped even more than he had at Catelyn’s earlier words.

“My lord,” she started to say, but he held up a hand to silence her.

“Robb,” he said firmly, walking into the room past Catelyn to come and sit on the edge of the boy’s bed. “I have told you never to pester your lady mother about Jon, have I not?”

Robb pushed himself up to a sitting position and met his father’s eyes with all the dignity a barely five year old boy could muster. “Yes, Father,” he said seriously. Then he turned to look up at Catelyn. “I am sorry I pestered you, Mother.” 

Catelyn sighed. She wasn’t angry at Robb. She truly wasn’t. But his questions had hurt. He loved the bastard. She knew he did. He looked upon Jon Snow no differently than he did Sansa or the babe in her womb, and that both angered and frightened her. It angered her that her husband, a man she had come to love with all her heart encouraged her son to love the bastard so much that he wanted the boy to call her ‘Mother.’ And it frightened her that Robb’s love for the boy might make him blind to any harm Jon Snow might cause him. History was full of cautionary tales concerning the bastards of kings and lords, and her husband refused to open his eyes to that fact—whether he did so from a sense of obligation toward the bastard he’d fathered or love for the child’s nameless mother, she chose not to think long upon.

“I am well, Robb,” she said. “But you should sleep now.”

“I would wish to speak to our son before he sleeps, my lady,” Ned said rather formally, turning to look at her.

“Very well, my lord,” Catelyn replied just as formally. “I shall take my leave then.” She turned to go, but was stopped at the door once more by a voice calling to her. Only this time, it wasn’t Robb’s.

“Cat.” There was a plea in his voice, and she turned back to look at him. His face was nearly expressionless, but she could see both pain and guilt in the grey eyes. “Will you be in your chambers, my lady?” he asked softly.

“I will.”

A desperate sort of hope now superseded whatever other emotions mingled in Ned’s eyes. “Might I come to you there, my love?”

 _My love._ Ned did love her. She knew he did. But somehow that made Robb’s questions hurt no less. “Of course, my lord. I am your wife. You are always welcome in my chambers.”

She turned then and left the room before husband or son could call her back once more, virtually fleeing down the corridor so that she might reach her own room before the tears that threatened began falling.

ROBB

Father was angry at him. Robb could tell that easily enough even though Father just sat there beside him looking out toward the corridor without speaking for a very long time after Mother left. He thought mayhap Mother was angry at him, too. But she had seemed mostly sad. She always got angry or sad when he talked about Jon, and he didn’t understand that. She smiled when he talked about Sansa, and Sansa wasn’t nearly as much fun as Jon because she was a girl and pretty much still a baby.

He wondered if he should apologize to Father. He didn’t mean to pester Mother. He’d asked Old Nan what that word meant after Father said it to him once, and she’d said it meant bother. He’d only asked Mother a question. That didn’t seem like bothering her to him. 

“Robb, I owe you an apology.” His father’s words startled him. Father and Mother were both forever making him apologize for things, but he couldn’t remember his father apologizing to him before. And he couldn’t figure out what his father was apologizing for.

“For what?” he asked.

Father sighed loudly. “I should have spoken to you about Jon long before now. I told myself you were still too young to understand it, and too young to need to understand it.”

“I’m not a baby. I understand lots of things,” Robb protested. Then he remembered what his father had said first. “What about Jon?”

“Jon is your brother. You know that.”

“Of course, I do!” Robb said quickly.

“But he is not a Stark, Robb. Do you understand what that means?”

“His name is Jon Snow. And my name is Robb Stark. Like yours! Your name is Eddard Stark.” 

“Yes,” Father said. “You have my name, Robb. And one day you will have Winterfell and my title as well. It will all come to you as my firstborn son and heir.”

Robb had heard all this before. He would be Lord of Winterfell when he was a man grown. He’d thought that sounded really great. Until he’d slowly come to understand he could only be Lord of Winterfell if Father was dead. And he didn’t want Father to be dead ever. When one of the stable boys got kicked in the head by a horse and he got dead, Robb had asked Mother when he would get to come back. He’d always lifted Robb up to pet the horses and he missed him. But Mother said that nobody got to come back from being dead. Never ever. So, he didn’t want to be the Lord of Winterfell anymore. He stayed quiet and waited for Father to continue speaking.

“Sansa has my name as well. As will the babe your mother carries now. You are my heir, but they, too, are Starks of Winterfell. Because all of you are my trueborn children.” Father looked at him a long moment, and when he spoke again, he sounded sad. “Jon is not a Stark. He will never have my name, Robb.”

“But he’s my brother! Why isn’t he a Stark, too?”

“Because he is a bastard, Robb.”

“That’s a bad word!” Robb nearly shouted, forgetting to be respectful in his shock that his lord father would call his brother such a filthy word. The men and boys around the castle would shout it at one another sometimes as an insult, but he’d been told by any number of people that he shouldn’t ever call anyone that.

“It is a bad word,” his father said sadly. “But in Jon’s case, it reflects badly upon me rather than him.”

Robb didn’t understand that at all. He mostly liked that Father never talked to him like he was a baby. Mother did sometimes, and he had to remind her he was five years old. But at least he always understood what Mother was saying. Sometimes he didn’t understand Father. “Do you mean you’re bad because you called Jon that? Septa Mordane would tell me I’m bad if I called somebody that.”

Father suddenly stood up and walked away from the bed quickly. “Gods damn me!” he muttered under his breath, and Robb’s eyes went as wide as they possibly could. Father never spoke that way in front of him. 

For a moment, Robb thought Father might hit something. He walked back and forth with a terrible expression on his face, and then he suddenly just sank down in the chair by the window and put his face in his hands.

“Father?” Robb asked tentatively.

“You know that your mother is not Jon’s mother, Robb,” Father finally said very quietly. 

Robb did know that. He’d been told that by more than one person. But he didn’t understand it. Mother was his mother and Sansa’s. And now this new baby’s. So why couldn’t she be Jon’s mother, too?

“Why can’t she be Jon’s mother?” he asked his father then. “Jon doesn’t have a mother, and he needs one, too! And Mother is the best mother there is. If you’re Jon’s father and my sister is Jon’s sister, then why can’t my mother be Jon’s mother, Father? Why?” He didn’t like the stupid baby tears that threatened to fall from his eyes then, and he rubbed them with his fists before he looked at Father again. Father had raised his head and was looking at him with the most terrible and sad expression on his face. “Why doesn’t Mother like Jon, Father?” he asked in a quieter voice than he’d been using. “Jon’s a good boy. You know he is.”

“Jon is a good boy,” Father said, and his voice sounded funny. “And you . . . you are the finest boy I could ever hope to have for a son, Robb.” He looked down again for a moment. “Come here son.”

Robb kicked away the furs that still covered his legs and walked over to his father who pulled him into his lap. He decided he wasn’t too big to sit in Father’s lap just now, and he didn’t mind the way Father pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Your mother doesn’t dislike Jon,” Father said.

“Yes she does.”

“No. She doesn’t want him here. That’s true, but it has nothing to do with Jon himself.”

Robb had been snuggled against Father’s chest, but now he pulled back to look up at him. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said very certainly.

“Gods, how do I explain this?” Father asked, but Robb didn’t think he was talking to him. “Robb, I wed your mother at Riverrun before I rode to war. We came together as man and wife and the gods gave us the gift of you. That is the way children are meant to be brought into the world.”

Robb couldn’t think of a response to that so he just waited to see if Father would get back to why Mother didn’t like Jon.

“While I was away at war, I . . . there was a different woman I loved who had a son. And that was Jon.”

“You had another wife?” Robb asked, his eyes going big again. “I didn’t think you could have more than one.”

“You can’t!” Father frowned. “You shouldn’t anyway,” he said darkly. “And I didn’t. Your mother is the only wife I have ever wed, and the only wife I shall ever want.” He paused. “Jon’s mother was not my wife.”

“But then how did you get Jon?” Robb felt something shaky and he realized it was his father’s hands as they held him on his lap.

“A man and a woman pledge themselves in marriage, and they should remain faithful to each other always. An unmarried man or woman should not have a child, Robb, and a married man should have children only with his wife. That is the way it should be. But it is not always the way it is. Some children are born to parents who are not man and wife because men are not always honorable.”

“You are!” Robb said. He knew that was true. Everyone always said his father was the most honorable man in the North. 

Father whispered something that sounded like a bad word and then stood Robb on his feet so that he could get up and walk away. Robb just stood there watching him. Finally, Father looked back at him. “No, Robb. I try to live with honor, son. I do. But I fear my honor failed your mother and Jon both. For Jon is mine, Robb. He is my blood although his mother was not my wife. And so it is my fault your brother is a bastard and my fault that your mother was dishonored by my actions. Your brother will never be a Stark, Robb, and I am afraid your mother will never see what a good boy he is because she has been too hurt by the dishonor his presence here brings her. And all of that is my fault, Robb. Do you understand? It is not Jon’s. And it is not your mother’s.”

Robb wasn’t sure he understood all of it. But he understood that Mother would never be Jon’s mother because Jon did have a mother somewhere. A different mother. And that was bad, and it was Father’s fault. He couldn’t imagine Father doing anything to hurt Mother or Jon, but Father didn’t tell lies. And his hands were still shaking. Robb could see them shake from where he stood.

“You should apologize,” he said seriously. “When you do something bad, you have to apologize.” Father himself had told him that countless times. So had Mother. And Septa Mordane, and Maester Luwin, and even Old Nan. “Tell Mother and Jon you’re sorry.”

“Oh, Robb,” Father said, sounding sadder than Robb had ever heard him. “If only it were that simple. Some things are not so easily mended I fear. But I promise I am trying to do right by both of them, and I will do so for the rest of my life.”

“But . . . Mother still won’t like that Jon is my brother?” Robb asked in a small voice.

“Your mother will not keep Jon away from you, son. But she will never love him as she does you and your trueborn siblings. You must not hold that against her for the fault is mine. And you may continue to love them both for they both love you very much.”

“Do you love them both?” Robb asked.

“More than either one could possibly know,” Father said. “And I love you as well. You are my son and I am proud of you, and I know you will grow to be a far more honorable man than your father.”

Robb wasn’t sure about that. He didn’t like that Father had done something wrong and hurt mother and made Jon be a bastard (whatever that was—Robb still wasn’t clear on it) and not have a mother in Winterfell. But Father was still the greatest man in the North. And Robb knew Mother and Jon both thought that, too. 

Father picked him up and put him back in bed, leaving him with another kiss on the top of his head and very few words. Once he was certain Father was well away from his room, Robb rolled to face the large armoire on the opposite wall. “Are you still awake?” he whispered loudly.

NED

Ned Stark felt he could barely breathe as he walked down the corridor away from his son’s room. He had never felt more shamed in his entire life than he had as he’d explained Jon’s bastardy to his son. His happy, loving son who only wanted his brother to have everything he did. _Gods!_ He could still see those innocent blue eyes, Catelyn’s eyes, pleading with him, believing that he could make everything better. _Jon doesn’t have a mother and he needs one, too! And Mother is the best mother there is. If you’re my father and Jon’s father and my sister is Jon’s sister, then why can’t my mother be Jon’s mother, Father? Why?_

Not for the first time, he questioned the choices he had made. But he knew that was futile. He had no more answers to those questions than he had when he’d first faced them. And he’d followed this path far too long to choose another now. He’d told Robb he would endeavor to do right by Catelyn and Jon for the rest of his life, and he had meant it.

Having reached the doorway of his wife’s chambers, he knocked upon it after only a slight hesitation. He could not blame her if she didn’t want to even look upon him tonight, but he needed her. Gods help him, he needed her now.

“Come in, my lord,” came her voice.

She was seated at her dressing table wearing her nightshift and robe. Her hair was down, and she was brushing it. There was no fire in her hearth which is likely why she thought she needed the robe although Ned found the room more than warm. It was light, too, thanks to the candles she had lit. She turned to look at him with a questioning look on her face. Gods, she was beautiful.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked her.

“You did say you wished to come to my chambers, my lord.” The ghost of a smile flitted across her face for an instant. “And I know your knock.”

He wanted to touch her. To hold her. He needed her to hold him. But he felt even less deserving of being her husband than he normally did. On the very day she had given him the joyous news of another child for the two of them to share, he had allowed their first born to practically suggest to her that his bastard should call her mother.

 _You should apologize._ He heard Robb’s grave little voice instructing him and saw his son’s blue eyes in the blue eyes that looked at him questioningly now. “I’m sorry, my love. I am so very sorry.”

She raised her brows and her eyes widened, again reminding him of Robb. She hadn’t expected an apology, and likely she wondered precisely what it was for. In truth, he wondered how many things he was truly apologizing for, himself. He would never apologize for bringing Jon here. Jon belonged here, for he was of Winterfell whether he bore the name Stark or not. He could not regret bringing Jon home, and he would not apologize for something he would do again if given the same choice. But the pain it had cost this woman he had come to love beyond anything he’d believed possible, the pain Jon suffered every time he saw the mother’s love which Robb received in abundance and he had not at all, even the pain Robb suffered and would suffer even more greatly as he realized the depth of the hurts suffered by the people he loved and the depth of his own father’s dishonor--he was sorrier for all of that than he could ever put into words.

“I am sorry that I did not speak to Robb sooner. That I allowed you to suffer hurtful questions from our son. Jon’s presence here is my responsibility, Catelyn. Explaining it to our children should be my responsibility as well.” He could apologize for that at least. He could put this failure into words, unlike so many others.

“Yes,” she said simply. “It should. I don’t want to be questioned about Jon Snow by our son.” He could see the effort she put into keeping her voice as even as possible.

“Robb will not ask you about him again, my lady. I do not know how much he understood of what I said, but he understands that Jon is not any responsibility of yours and that the fault for that is mine alone. Not yours. Not Jon’s.”

“Oh, you needn’t fear that he ever placed any blame on the boy, Ned. He only blamed me.”

The edge of her anger and bitterness was less well disguised as she spoke this time. “Cat . . .”

“It’s true, Ned. Don’t try to say it isn’t. Robb loves that boy because you’ve thrown them together since they were suckling babes and made them brothers. Whenever Jon Snow has had a moment’s unhappiness, it’s to me that my son looked. Me, he held responsible. For I do not love the boy, Ned, and our son may be very young, but he is neither blind nor stupid. And it was never my place to explain to him your actions, my lord.”

“No,” Ned said softly. “I waited too long, Cat. I should have spoken to him sooner. I’m afraid I still see them as suckling babes at times.”

“Well, they aren’t. Even Sansa has been weaned for moons now.” She looked at him levelly. “It is not my place to reproach you, my lord. And I would never speak ill of anything you have done to any one of our children . . .”

“I know you would never do that, my lady,” he interrupted. “I know it well. But here in these chambers, you have the right to speak to me as you will. I value your words, Cat, whether they flatter me or not.”

She almost smiled at that. “Well, neither of us is prone to giving false flattery, my love.” Then she sighed. “But I was going to say that even though I disagree with your keeping the boy at Winterfell, I have agreed to never speak against it except to you when we are alone. You do not like me to speak of the child at all, I know, and that is why I did not come to you when I felt Robb’s resentment of my . . . detachment . . . from Jon Snow beginning to grow.”

“Cat . . . I . . .”

“But I don’t want to do this with the other children, Ned. I don’t want Sansa to ask me when they are all older why I never cheer for Jon Snow in the practice yard as I do for Robb. I don’t want this babe in my belly to one day beg me to allow Jon Snow to sit at the High Table when your bannermen are here for feasts. I don’t want to have to explain myself to them, my lord. I cannot explain to them why I feel as I do because I cannot explain Jon Snow to them. I would have to tell them that their father shamed me, and I will never do that.”

He saw her fighting back tears as she made this speech just as Robb had fought back tears when he’d asked why Catelyn couldn’t be Jon’s mother. “You would not be lying to them, Cat,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “It would hurt them to hear me say such a thing of you. And you do not deserve it. Whatever I feel about your bastard and his presence here, I know you to be a man of honor, my love. I would not have our children believe I think otherwise. But I ask for your promise now. If I come to you and ask you to speak to any of our children about Jon Snow, will you do that for me? Without rebuking me? Even if you think them too young or too naïve to hear it?”

The thought of speaking as he had to Robb tonight to sweet little Sansa made him almost physically ill. His little girl was a delight, a miniature version of her mother who had him wrapped around her dainty fingers. One day, he would have to sit down and explain to her that he had betrayed her mother. And then he would pray that as she grew up, she wouldn’t hate him for it. And he’d have to do the same for the child he couldn’t yet feel within Catelyn’s womb, and any other children they were fortunate enough to have.

“You have my promise, my lady,” he said solemnly. “Our children shall know well where to place any blame for Jon’s station in life.” He hesitated and added, “As will Jon.” He swallowed hard then, wondering if Jon would hate him someday. He’d spoken to Jon about being a bastard already from necessity, but he wondered if he would ever the conversation with Jon he’d truly like to have. Would Jon hate him more for his bastardy or for the secrets he kept? Gods knew the boy would be justified either way.

“I don’t hate you, Ned.” Her words were barely audible, but they startled him so that he jumped.

She rose from her seat and came to stand before him and place her hands on either side of his face. “I know that look,” she said. “When you carry the burdens of all the world and worry that you are not enough. When you look at yourself and hate something about what you see.” She tiptoed and placed a brief kiss to his lips. “I don’t hate you, my love. However angry I may become, I could never hate you. You must know that.”

He couldn’t find any words to express what those words of hers meant to him, so he simply crushed her to him and kissed her deeply, hoping she could understand even a fraction of what he felt for her. When they broke apart, he actually grinned at her. “You’re giving me another child,” he said. They’d scarcely gotten to celebrate that fact between just the two of them at all.

“I am,” she said, returning his smile. “I hope it is another son. I’d like to give Robb a brother this time.”

 _Robb has a brother,_ he thought. But he didn’t say it aloud. Those words had no place here. Robb knew he had a brother already, and however many other siblings came along, Robb would not consider Jon anything else. As for Catelyn, she knew she had a son and a daughter, and he hoped she knew she had a husband who loved her. 

“Or we could give Sansa a sister,” he said. “Boy or girl. Any child of yours will be beautiful.”

“Any child of _ours,_ Ned,” she laughed. “Our children will all be beautiful and brilliant and well-loved.”

He could feel the discord between them receding again as the love they’d built so carefully pulled them close together and left no room for discord or bitterness. It would come back, of course. It could never be banished forever. He’d chosen this path for all of them, and now he would walk it—ready to push away any discord when it threatened them and reveling in the warmth of this family they’d made, the warmth of his wife’s arms, the warmth of the children’s smiles. 

JON

“Yeah, I’m awake,” Jon whispered in response to his brother’s question. Robb had actually repeated it because he’d taken so long to answer. He’d been trying to make sense of everything he’d heard. He’d already known he was a bastard, of course. He didn’t understand it completely, but Father had talked to him a long time ago. He knew more than Robb did about lots of things, and being a bastard was the thing he knew the most about.

“Well come out, then! They’re both gone.”

Jon pushed the door of the armoire open with his feet. He must be growing because it wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be inside it. He and Robb had shared a room until they were four and both wished that they still did. While they were allowed to spend the night in each other’s rooms pretty frequently, they tended to sneak into each other’s rooms even on the other nights. Mostly Jon sneaked into Robb’s because he had the big armoire which was easy to scoot into on short notice if Father or Lady Stark showed up on a night Jon wasn’t supposed to be there.

“You were right,” Robb said sadly when Jon walked from the armoire to the bed to crawl in beside him.

“I’m sorry, Robb.” Jon had known that Lady Stark couldn’t be his mother. He’d tried to tell Robb that, but his brother had been determined to ask about it. Jon never tried to talk Robb out of doing things because that never worked. But his brother sounded so sad that Jon wished he’d tried harder to keep him from asking about this.

“It’s not your fault. It’s Father’s. He said so,” Robb stated emphatically. 

“Yeah. Well, at least he came in before Lady Stark could yell at you for asking about me.”

“Mother wasn’t going to yell at me,” Robb said defensively. “And Father said bad words! Did you hear him?”

“I heard him.” _And if bastard is a bad word, what does that make me?_

“He asked the gods to damn him to hell,” Robb whispered, wide eyed. 

“Well, he fathered a bastard,” Jon said. “And that’s a bad thing to do.”

“What’s a bastard exactly?” Robb asked. “Do you know?”

“It’s a baby. A baby whose mother isn’t wed to his father. Like me.”

“Oh.” Robb lay silent a moment. “But why is that a bad word then? I mean, I wouldn’t like it if Mother and Father weren’t wed to each other, but if it just means a baby then saying it isn’t like saying gods damn or anything.”

Jon shrugged which Robb probably couldn’t see as dark as the room was now. 

“People hate bastards,” he elaborated. “Just look at your mother.”

“Don’t you say anything about my mother!” Robb insisted. “Didn’t you hear Father? You’re his fault. Not my mother’s!”

“I know I’m Father’s fault! He told me about it a long time ago. But Lady Stark hates bastards, Robb. Lots of people do.”

“No, she doesn’t. She just doesn’t like the dishonor. That’s what Father said. Didn’t you listen at all?”

“I listened.” He had. He’d listened to everything. But he thought he knew more about how Lady Stark felt about him than his brother or his father. She loved both of them, after all. 

“Did you understand it all? I mean how do people who aren’t married get babies anyway?”

Jon sighed. “They love each other.” That’s what his father had told him. He didn’t really understand much more than Robb did, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “I heard my father say he loved my mother.”

“He loves MY mother!” Robb countered.

“Yeah, but he loved my mother, too. I heard him call her a woman he loved.” That had made Jon feel warm. He liked that Father had loved his mother. It seemed to make him less of a mistake, even if he was a bastard.

“Well, he loves my mother more,” Robb said.

Jon didn’t argue. He knew Father loved Lady Stark. She’s the one he married. And came home to. He didn’t stay with Jon’s mother. So Robb was probably right. _I don’t care!_ Jon thought defiantly. _I don’t need Lady Stark to like me. My mother loved me. I know she did. And Father loved her. Even if he stopped loving her._

“Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you glad we’re brothers?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because we ARE brothers, and it doesn’t matter if your name isn’t Stark and it doesn’t matter if my mother doesn’t like you. Right?”

“Right.” 

“I think Snow’s a good name,” Robb said then. “I mean I love snow! Snow is the greatest thing ever. I don’t even know what Stark is. Do you?”

“Yeah. You’re a Stark.” _And you’re my brother._

“You wanna have races in the godswood tomorrow?”

“Sure.” They were both quiet for a few minutes than before Jon felt compelled to ask, “Are you glad we’re brothers, Robb?”

“Of course, I am! You’re the best brother anywhere, Jon. Maybe when we’re men grown, we can go on an adventure and find your mother. And if she doesn’t like me, it’ll be okay because mine doesn’t like you, either.”

That was a silly thing to say, and it made Jon laugh. But he supposed it would be fair. They could be brothers even if both their mothers hated the boy that wasn’t theirs. And Robb was all about fairness.

“Jon?” Robb asked after another moment. “Do you wish your name was Stark like mine?”

Yes. He wouldn’t say that, though. It would make Robb sad, and Jon didn’t like Robb to be sad. “No. I don’t care.”

“Good,” Robb said. “Then I don’t care either. And if the new baby is a boy, you’ll still be my favorite brother.”

Jon grinned in the dark at his brother’s words. It didn’t matter that Lady Stark didn’t like him. It didn’t. It didn’t matter that he had a bastard’s name. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew those things did matter, but he squashed that part down. Tonight he had heard his father tell his brother that he had loved Jon’s mother. And he knew the new baby would be his brother or sister just like Robb and Sansa were, even though it would probably look like Lady Stark. 

“Maybe this baby will look like Father,” he said, realizing that he kind of hoped it would.

Robb laughed. “He’ll look like you if he does! Everybody says you look like Father.” He paused. “And I look like Mother.” Jon couldn’t see him in the dark, but he could tell by his voice that he was making a face. “I don’t look like a girl!”

Jon laughed. “No. You don’t. You just have red hair and blue eyes. That’s all. Sansa’s the one that looks like Lady Stark.” 

Robb sighed. “I wish you didn’t have to call her that. I wish she was your mother.”

Jon wasn’t sure how to answer that. Robb said it a lot, and he used to think he wished the same. But Lady Stark didn’t like him. He knew she didn’t whatever Father said about it. She wasn’t mean to him or anything. She just . . . didn’t want him. Ever. He didn’t want a mother who didn’t want him. _Father loved my mother. He said so to Robb._ “I have a mother,” he said finally. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. Because you’re my brother no matter who my mother is. And that’s the important thing.”

“Yeah,” Robb said. “The most important thing.” He yawned as he said it so that Jon could barely understand him.

“We better go to sleep, Robb, or I won’t wake up in time to get back to my room before somebody comes in.”

“Yeah,” Robb said again, and Jon realized his brother was half asleep already.

Lying there in Robb’s room in Winterfell, Jon realized he wouldn’t trade his brother for anyone or anything, and it made him smile. There was plenty of snow on the ground. Maybe they could build a fortress tomorrow.

“Good night, Stark,” he said.

He could hear the smile in Robb’s voice as he replied. “Good night, Snow.”


End file.
